


your lung's allure

by Theboys



Series: what a time to be alive [10]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Basketball, M/M, basketball player!Jared, journalist!jensen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 07:44:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11619084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theboys/pseuds/Theboys
Summary: Jared's planning something.





	your lung's allure

**Author's Note:**

> y'all can thank somer for this one, and i'm super proud of you kid for not spilling the beans!  
> p.s y'all gonna be sick because this one is fluff (hate myself)

Jared’s acting strangely.

It bothers Jensen more than it should, because Jared can be reserved at times, (not as much as Jensen, but who is) but he’s also very open with regards to their relationship.

Jensen doesn’t know if Jared can sense that he craves that, or what, but it’s that fact that’s keeping him from tearing his hair out.

It’s the off-season, and Jensen’s got a meeting in four days with Derrick, whom he can interview, and not with Jared, whom he cannot.

He’s typing with his headphones in, nose practically pressed to the screen--Jay makes fun but Jensen literally cannot type any other way--when his boyfriend stumbles in, sweaty from what appears to be an early gym session.

Jensen startles, squeaks is probably a more accurate word, but who’s measuring, and Jared wraps one bicep around his neck and presses three kisses to the crown of his head.

“Get off,” Jensen murmurs, “you smell.”

Jared rubs his sticky chest against the back of Jensen’s head and he ignores the decided twitch his dick gives in response to that.

“Can I not want my boyfriend to smell like me?” Jared says, still not relaxing the iron grip of his arm. Jensen’s still putting up a viable effort to type, but four words per minute really isn’t fooling anyone.

“I could go roll outside in the trash and h-have the same effect,” Jensen forces out, and flinches slightly when Jared’s arm momentarily tightens.

Jay releases him, quick as you please, and then he’s spinning Jensen’s chair around so he can look down on him.

“Baby?” Jared asks, carefully. “What’s wrong?” Jensen doesn’t answer, can’t meet Jared’s eyes.

“Is it Der?” Jared pauses. “I told him you might need a few days in between him and flying out to California--”Jensen shakes his head; his eyes are stinging.

“Jen. Sweetheart, can you just. Will you just look at me?” Jared drops to one knee and tilts his chin up with his thumb.

“There he is,” Jared murmurs, so lowly that Jensen doesn’t think he even realized he said anything. “Now you can either start talkin’,” Jared says, “or I can tell you how much I like your eyes in the morning, or how fat your ass is when I’m--” Jensen slaps two palms over Jared’s face because Jared’s security detail is somewhere around, and Jensen’s not keen on them knowing exactly what his ass looks like.

“S-shut up,” he says, and Jared wraps a free hand around the nape of his neck. “C’mere then,” Jared says, voice darkening.

He whimpers, he’s weak, sue him. 

“That’s right,” Jared whispers, an inch away from his mouth. “Talk about how much I like it when you make all that noise for me,” he continues, and Jensen’s pressing uncomfortably against his sweatpants, hips circling upwards in search of friction.

“Y-you t-talk too much,” Jensen stutters out, and Jared laughs fondly and finally connects them. Jensen’s hands come up around his neck automatically, and Jared settles one hand possessively at the jut of his hip, and the other one digs right down the back of his pants to settle comfortably around his right cheek.

Jared flexes long fingers, squeezes until a moan leaks right out of Jensen’s mouth and into his.

Jared smiles into the kiss, teeth momentarily clacking together. “That’s right,” Jared says, inching his index down Jensen’s crack, and Jensen pulls back in an effort to breathe.

“Y-you’re always gone,” he huffs out, squeezes his eyes shut so he can’t meet Jared’s gaze.

Jared still instantly, ever attentive. 

“Jensen.”

“What.”

“Baby, open your eyes,” Jared asks, a laugh in his voice. Jensen does so, with great reluctance, and Jared stands, pulling Jensen with him.

“I was trying to surprise you,” Jared sighs, running one hand through his damp hair, “but I wanted. I’m taking you on vacation,” he finishes helplessly, dragging his thumb down the slack shine of Jensen’s lower lip.

Jensen raises a brow. “Wait. What? When?” Jensen pauses, and his tongue accidentally grazes Jared’s finger. 

“Stop that,” Jared grits out, but he takes both of Jensen’s hands and drags him over to the couch.

“It takes a little bit to plan something like this,” Jared says, tugging so that Jensen settles on top of his legs.

He makes a surprised sound at the landing, and Jared hands settle possessively over his ass, one broad palm on each cheek. 

Jared’s fingers flex like he just can’t help himself, and Jensen rocks forward on accident, dick brushing up against Jay’s lower abs.

“You can’t do that,” Jared hisses. “I’m trying to communicate here,” he grunts, and Jensen’s ears flush red, and he rolls his hips one good time, just to hear Jared curse.

“You wanna get stuffed, huh?” Jared says, and his voice is dipping low. Jensen sucks his lip into his mouth and shakes his head.

“N-no,” he tries, “wanna hear what you have to say, first.”

Jared leans his head back against the couch with a groan. “Mark had to help set it up--you know I’m horrible at--at clandestine shit.” 

Jensen smiles, wraps his hands in the hem of Jared’s tank. “You’re not hiding it from me very well,” Jensen says unhelpfully, and Jared pinches his ass lightly.

“Hush,” he laughs. “I’m not hiding anything from you. It’s Them I’m worried about,” Jared sighs, and Jensen nods in sudden understanding.

The T in Them is understandably capitalized, referring to the clamor of paps that surround Jared at any given moment, crave an opening into his personal life.

Jensen feels sort of ashamed that he was so worried to begin with. 

“Where are we going,” he whispers, shoves backwards into the cup of those hands. Jared kneads the flesh hungrily, and Jensen can’t be blamed for how much he likes it when Jay plays with his ass.

“You uh,” Jared says, distracted, “you know how you ordered that box set of DVD’s about the Ardennes offensive, last year?”

Jared’s hands are moving unceasingly, and Jensen blames that on his delayed hearing. Once the statement catches up, though, he almost falls backwards in his haste to stand.

He’s trembling, which is mildly concerning, but he feels lightheaded and he’d like to get his facts straight before he passes out.

“Jared. Jared Tristan Padalecki,” he says, and Jared looks punch-drunk, blinks at his empty hands as if still trying to figure out how they got there.

“What are you saying,” Jensen says, voice swelling. Jared leans forward, cock outlined in his athletic shorts. 

“Wouldn’t you like to see it in person?” Jared says, winks like Jensen’s not a sure thing.

Jensen’s breath catches and he’s positive he’s never had to decide between fainting, and sucking dick before.

-

It’s insane.

Jensen likes words. He buys fiction books and nonfiction books and history books and Jared told him when they go house hunting (which causes Jensen no end of anxiety) Jensen needs to be sure to find a place with a room he’d like to use as a library.

Jensen never thought of it; he’s always been content cramming new titles onto fuller shelves, but Jared just looks at him like he’s foolish when he voices that opinion.

“I’ve got money to burn,” Jared says frankly, which takes Jensen aback. Jared never mentions that. “You’re getting a damn library.” 

That’s the end of that.

Jensen might as well have never touched a book in all his life for how much words are failing him right now.

“Do you want to see the Bouillon Castle first,” Jared’s saying, “or do you want to hike the Semois?” Jared’s pronunciation is surprisingly good, which means Jared must’ve been planning this for awhile.

Everything is green.

They’re in Luxembourg, and Jensen doesn’t want to die right now, because then he’ll never experience this again.

“You know they crossed the Maginot-Line here?” Jensen breathes, and Jared laughs, grabs the hand that Jensen is gesturing with.

“Not once, but twice, okay, that’s two times that they could’ve fortified the defenses--” Jared tugs him close and huffs a laugh into his hairline.

“Keep goin,’” Jared says fondly. “What happened next?” 

Jensen knows Jared’s humoring him, but he can’t seem to stop, kind of wants to spin in a circle.

Jared’s thought of everything. The security team is blended into the background, and JD is somewhere in the trees--Jensen assumes, coordinating everything.

“Darlin,’” Jared says, and Jensen tilts his head up to meet Jared’s eyes. “So they uh,” Jensen says, abruptly distracted by the way Jared’s hair falls across his eyes when he’s staring down into Jensen’s, “they crossed through the forest. Because no one expected them to,” he continues, excitement ramping back up.

“It was basically undefended.” Jensen scans the waterfront, looks at the cluster of terraces lining the Semois. He wants to get closer but he also really wants to see the castle.

“Then what,” Jared prods, pulling him toward the center of the town.

“Then France fell,” Jensen says, mildly distracted, and sort of sad. “And they pushed the Allies to Dunkirk.” Jensen’s wringing his hands like he was there, and Jared stops suddenly, cupping both hands around Jensen’s face.

“You know I love you. You know that, right?” Jared’s intense, like neither of them are going to be able to move until Jensen answers, and he nods, blinking wet eyes.

“I l-love you too,” he breathes, and Jared stares at him a moment longer before releasing him.

“I’ll take your picture in front of the castle,” Jared offers, teasingly, and Jensen rolls his eyes and allows himself to be tugged along.

-

They don’t get to hike in the valley until almost twilight, because Jared kept them so busy in the town. They have two weeks to explore, and there are so many historical landmarks he’s gonna drag Jared to, as soon as he gets the chance.

The Semois travels right into the Meuse, and Jensen’s so excited to see where the actual crossing took place.

Jared’s behind him, despite his longer stride, insisting that he could never keep up with Jensen’s enthusiasm.

“A--and they used it  _ again,  _ Jay,” he’s saying, practically skipping to where he can hear the larger gush of water that signifies the greater part of the river.

“Battle of the Bulge, would’ve--it would’ve have been a success b-because it was top secret, but, but at that point, the Germans didn’t have anymore supplies or troops to curtail their losses--”

It sounds like Jared’s speaking, but he’s talking too lowly for Jensen to catch his words, and he only pauses when Jared laughs and asks him to hold up.

“Slow down, baby,” Jared says, feigns exhaustion.

Jensen stops entirely, and adjusts the straps of his backpack. Jared slides his off and onto the ground, and Jensen turns halfway to face him.

“You can’t rest now! We’re like, two feet away!” Jensen says, indignant.

Jared laughs again, that same self-satisfied sound he’s been providing all trip.

“Can I kiss you? Just wanna kiss you before you go play Indiana Jones again,” he teases, and Jensen flushes stupidly.

“Shut up, ass. I just. You know I like history,” Jensen explains, and Jared pulls him forward by the waist.

“I know,” he whispers, suddenly personal. “I love that about you,” Jared adds, and Jensen scrunches his face up in disbelief.

“Hey,” Jared continues, in that same, quiet tone, “did they come from up there?”

Jensen snorts, even though Jared’s close enough that Jensen can count the flecks of gold in his eyes. 

“Using the Luftwaffe wouldn’t be very clandestine,” Jensen says, but he’s already looking at where Jared’s pointing.

There’s a low rise of land before the greater mountain range, but that’s not what Jared’s referring to, and Jensen knows it.

There’s a series of words outlined in the dying sky, just visible enough in the waning light.

Jensen chest constricts as Jared circles around to his back and leans forward to whisper into his ear, “Told you, I’m no good at clandestine.”

Jensen’s blinking stupidly, trying to make sense of 

_ Jensen, will you marry me? _

But he needs answers for that, and when he turns around to confront Jared he has to look down several feet because Jared’s on one knee and Jensen just. Crumbles.

Jared’s arm is shaking--his free one, the other one is holding a ring, and he uses it to steady Jensen.

“You gonna let me ask you?” Jared teases, but his words are thick and Jensen is probably hyperventilating. 

“Jensen,” Jared begins, clears his throat.

“We were never supposed to meet.” 

Jensen can’t even look at the ring. Can’t meet Jared’s eyes.

“They’d just offered too much money to a kid, and you were living off Top Ramen and somehow hadn’t killed my idiot of a best friend.” Jared pauses, inhaling a shaky breath. “I had this whole thing memorized, I promise,” he says, and Jensen laughs, but it’s wet, at best.

“Listen. Listen, baby. The only thing that matters is that I wanna take you places like this forever, and have you give me an impromptu fucking history lesson, and watch you light up about something that happened hundreds of years ago.” Jared’s bad knee creaks and Jensen wants to reach for it.

“I want to watch you typing at all hours of the night, make sure you sleep when you’ve pushed yourself too far. I wanna drag you to classic car shows, even though all you care about is the time period they were made in,” Jared says, and Jensen’s holding his breath.

“I want to do whatever you want to do,” Jared says, winding down, “and I knew that from the second I met you.”

Jensen can’t help the weird sob that wrenches from his gut at that, and Jared makes the same sound.

“Will you marry me, or do I have to stay down here all night?”

Jensen hasn’t even looked at the damn ring, could be a Ring Pop for all he gives a shit, and he’s not the least bit sorry for barreling all his weight into Jared’s chest and knocking them both flat onto the ground.

“W-will I--you--you fucking asshole--h-how long? Course. Of course. I was a-always gonna marry you, you idiot,” Jensen says, kind of cry-laughing and Jared’s lashes are damp and the ring box is settled by his fan of hair.

“Jeff,” Jared says suddenly, clearly, pressing one finger to his ear, “Now’s good.”

Jensen’s brow furrows in confusion and then he’s ducking his forehead into Jared’s collarbone, because the sky is alight with fireworks.

They’re not colorful--Jensen doesn’t like the rainbow explosion of colors, prefers the classic, but it’s so fucking stupid that Jared would remember something like that.

It illuminates the cloud-writing, especially because now it’s too dark to see it, and Jensen knows he’s crying, but it’s just them, so.

“P-please,” Jensen says, “Please tell me you got pictures o-of that,” he adds, waving one hand at the sky.

“Got it covered,” Jared whispers, and pauses, as if thinking.

“You asked how long,” Jared says, picking up Jensen’s hand and angling the Tungsten-black band down his ring finger.

“Since Chris’ sister got engaged, and you told me how excited you’d be if you were too,” Jared says, and this time it’s him that won’t make eye contact.

“I figure. I always want you happy. So.” Jared’s staring down at Jensen’s hand like it’s the first time he’s ever seen it, and Jensen understands. 

He lets him look away.

They don’t make it back until morning. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> the greedy troll loves thoughts


End file.
